The Witch and The Magician
by Ahria
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles featuring the romance of two of the most enigmatic characters in the any of the CLAMP worlds. Yuuko/Clow. Rating subject to change with each chapter
1. Chapter 1

So, here's a little drabble that I wrote for a writing contest on www dot animesymposium dot com.

I had to use the themes:

-Fate  
-An apple  
-Blue  
-Darkness  
-A secret  
-Ice  
-Fear  
-A nail  
-Something unobtainable

* * *

**Untitled Drabble One:**

**Rating: PG**

"I'm going to die soon." He told her one sunny day in August.

She studied him carefully, looking for any hint of joking on his face. He stared back at her, his blue eyes serious, and she knew he wasn't kidding. Slowly, she looked away, unshed tears clouding her vision. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, refusing to give into the choking, overwhelming fear of losing him. Hating herself for the feeling, she forced it to become anger instead.

"Well," she managed to say. "you always were a selfish bastard."

"You know it's fate." He told her gently. His blind acceptance of this (and hers too) was the final nail in his coffin. There was nothing to be done about it now, except to wait. So she laughed, and it was a desperate, broken sound.

* * *

She knew the moment he left the world. The porcelain teacup tumbled from her delicate fingers to shatter on the ground, unnoticed.

When they'd held out the apple of temptation, she hadn't been able to refuse, despite the price that it would wring from her. She refused to let herself regret the choice, so instead she put the blame on him. It was his fault for seeking her out, for tricking her heart into this mess. (She wouldn't even think words, refusing to give them any more power over her.) Idly, she wondered what he would have to say to that, and instantly regretted it. (She'd never tell him what was in her heart.)

It was unclear how much time had passed during her reverie, but the sun had set, leaving the room in darkness. She sank to the ground, ignoring the ice-cold liquid and shards of porcelain. She sat there for a long time, hating him and herself and fate. It was late when she picked herself up off the floor and found the liquor cabinet.

Knowing she'd never see him again, that she'd never be able to go back to the way things were, she raised the bottle to her lips.

END.

* * *

Short, I know. But that's a drabble for you. This is my first time writing C/Y, so please review and tell me how I did. Thanks!

Eventually, there will be more drabbles here. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Another piece for the writing contest.

This time, my themes were:

1. Line from a Britney Spears song. The song must be indicated at the end of the entry.  
2. Shaving cream  
3. A butterfly  
4. Innocence lost  
5. A hypocrite

* * *

He was her source of amusement in life. He was the most entertaining (and annoying) person she'd ever met. He had a habit of stopping in the middle of a shave as an idea struck him. He'd begin talking excitedly and scribbling notes, shaving cream covering half his face. She'd lounge on the sofa and laugh at him, refusing to help until he washed his face.

She figured it was an even trade, since it had been his goal in life to irritate her. He had a butterfly brooch that she adored. She _knew _he only wore it during their visits, just to taunt her, then demanding a ridiculously high price anytime she mentioned wanting it. Every time he brought up the cost, she'd throw something at him and storm out of the room, the sound of his bellowing laughter following her out the door.

Despite knowing the whole thing was yet another ruse just to annoy her, she couldn't help reacting exactly the way he intended her to. It wasn't even the fact that his price was stupidly high. It was the fact that the price was hypocritical, because he'd never admit it either and she refused to say it first. So it was never said at all.

When he died, she forgot all about the butterfly pin. Instead, she focused her efforts on forgetting him. She didn't even have the comfort of a prayer because she'd learned as a child that a prayer was too close to a wish, and that wishes were dangerous. All she had left was the hope that someday his face would fade away from her mind, because it was the only thing she could afford.

Years after he died, a beautiful wooden box appeared on her table. There was a note attached, a single sentence in his sloppy handwriting. A week passed before she could bring herself to read it.

_I would have admitted it if you had only asked._

The brooch she'd coveted lay inside the box. She stared at it for a while before removing it, setting it on the table, and throwing the box against the wall as hard as she could. The new price was still too high, and she wanted to scream at him for it. How could she ever forget him now?

END.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Yet another contest entry.

**Themes:  
**1. "Hold your breath"  
2. "You can give me anything but love"  
3. "Condemn me to live"

The fourth theme was our choice! (I vaguely used both of them though)  
4a. water  
4b. forever

* * *

He'd Dreamt of her long before they'd ever met. He was enthralled with her from the first Dream. He knew she was going to frustrating, annoying and remarkably different from anyone he'd ever met. Normally he was a patient man, but waiting for her was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his long life. As time passed, and he Dreamed of here more often, he found himself half in love with her for her smirk alone. One dreary spring day he saw her sitting on a park bench, crossed the street and silently sat down next to her. She glanced at him, annoyance on her face as she sipped her tea. (She's been waiting for him too.)

* * *

She knew exactly when he'd snagged her heart. They'd been taking an evening stroll, taking a break from the constant planning, when he'd grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. He'd never been so close to her before, and she could smell the light lemon scent of his shampoo. Raising an eyebrow, she looked down at his hand and he smiled at her.

"Don't forget to hold your breath." He said as he released her.

"Why would I do that?" she'd asked, deliberately breathing deeply.

"We're about to walk by a graveyard." He responded easily, still smiling.

"And?"

Leaning forward and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, he replied, "It's because the dead can't breathe." She'd rolled her eyes, held her breath and walked away. (It had been right there, with his fingers in her hair.)

* * *

It was raining when he awoke. Instantly, he sought her out across the room. She was lying in front of the fire, sleeping, reams of paper spread out on the floor around her, a pen still grasped in her hand. Ink stained her fingers and a spot on her cheek. He mourned as he watched her because he'd finally Seen the end. He knew what had to be done, the burden he'd leave her with. He knew it wasn't fair, knew that if their roles were reversed and he had been the one condemned to live that he would break under the loss. To spare her the pain of the coming end, he knew he should've given her anything but love. (His last Wish would be for her forgiveness.)

END.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who has favorited/altert-listed this!


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